


they were kids that i once knew

by misgivings (orphan_account)



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Incest, M/M, Mild Gore, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/misgivings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The strangest things always happen in the smallest of towns. (Or, a dangerously AU murder mystery.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	they were kids that i once knew

**Author's Note:**

> A while back on tumblr I mentioned this AU. Surprisingly more than a few people expressed interest and so that little idea grew into this. Please note: Due to this being an AU Tommy and Billy are related in a more strict sense than they are in canon, so while I wouldn't usually use the incest tag for them I really have to here! Also, to elaborate on the AU tag, this is a 90's murder mystery AU with a bit of Noir thrown in...so, yeah, I mean it when I say this is dangerously AU. Other than that, I think the tags speak for themselves.
> 
> Warning: A lot of this story revolves around the characters jobs, because that's all they do all day. Except for Tommy, who sometimes just does other things for the hell of it. This story isn't so 90's that it'll blind you, but it's definitely set in the past. Cell phones are far and few between and absolutely no one in this story has ever heard of an Xbox.
> 
> If all of that sounds good (or mildly horrifying), then I hope you'll read on! Much thanks to my friends who read over this more than once and provided more help than I ever could have hoped for.

( _Billy_ )

He stands in the fluorescent-lit hallway longer than is probably necessary, breathes in, out, and decides that he really just has to get this over with. He tugs at the neck of his sweater and hopes he doesn't look too pretentious in it. On the phone Tommy said—well, Tommy said a lot of shit, that's just Tommy. Billy's lips quirk up a little bit at the thought, but he quickly settles his mouth back into a more neutral position as he steps forward and raps his knuckles against the doorjamb, trying not to look around the office too obviously.

"Sir, with all due respect," Tommy says from where he's hunched over a keyboard, sounding like he doesn't think there's any respect due whatsoever, "I told you I'd have the revisions to you by this afternoon."

"They have you calling someone sir?" Billy says, having to fight back laughter.

"Jesus Christ, Billy." Tommy whips his head up and tries to glare. It mixes oddly with the smile he can't hide. "You should've said something! My boss does that same shit, knocking like that. Almost fucking gave me a heart attack."

"Uhuh." Billy gives the place a once over. Wood panelling on the walls, tan carpet, it looks a little like the basement in the house he grew up in did, but it feels warm. "Nice glasses, by the way."

Tommy manages to glare at that and practically throws the things from his face onto his desk before leaning back in his computer chair. "It's the computers—they kill your eyes. You can come in and sit down, you know. Close the door behind you, actually."

Billy does just that, sits down in the chair that's opposite Tommy, feels a little like he's in grade school again.

"So this is it, huh?" he asks, for a lack of anything else to say. He hasn't seen Tommy in, God, years, it's all so weird. Still like looking in a mirror.

"Yeah." Tommy swivels back and forth, looking like he's still all of twelve. Billy had thought maybe it was just over the phone, but no, he really hasn't developed an ounce of professionalism. "Yeah, I mean, it's no _Times_ , but what is? I do okay. We do okay. You'll do okay."

Billy relaxes a little at those words, smiles nervously. "I'm sure."

"My boss, Barton? He, uh, really isn't as bad as all that," Tommy admits, which Billy had figured. Tommy's always had a penchant for exaggerating. "A little crazy, maybe, but a cool guy overall. You'll like him, he'll like you, all that."

"Good, good." It isn't really, though, Billy thinks. He can't even look his cousin in the eyes. They grew up together, they were practically brothers, but that almost seems like it happened in another lifetime. "How's Uncle Pietro?"

"Oh, he's, you know." Tommy shrugs, wobbles his hand in the air. "As good as he can be, all things considered. I mean, there was a while there where they didn't even think—but, well, it's in the past, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Billy says, and he keeps his eyes on the wall so he doesn't have to lie to Tommy's face. "Yeah, it is."

.

Barton says to call him Clint and Billy says, "Oh, no, I couldn't," with Tommy making gagging motions in the background. Billy knows he's a suck up, has known it since elementary school. It never made him popular, but he's always been a strong proponent of the idea that popularity only gets you far if it's with the right people.

Your boss is, as far as Billy's concerned, 'the right people.'

"Well, we've never had a cartoonist, but I’m not a traditionalist and your references all checked out." Barton's a weird mixture of taut and relaxed. He stands in a way that indicates a past military career, but talks in a way that says he's generally friends with his employees. "Tommy showed me your work, it's good. Like I told you over the phone, the job's yours. I'm just not sure why you need this job."

"Um." Billy hadn't thought this far ahead, hadn't thought past Tommy's assurance that he can stay in the guest room at his place and the aforementioned job offer. "It's complicated. Suffice it to say I think I'll like this work environment better."

That's a lie. Billy's never done well lying to authority figures, especially not ones he genuinely feels at ease around.

Barton raises an eyebrow, but just shrugs. "Fair enough."

Tommy, from where he's leaned against the wall, gives him a thumbs up.

All Billy can do is smile weakly.

.

Billy tails behind Tommy back to his place, even though he's relatively sure he would've been able to find it on his own. He moved away, he didn't get a lobotomy. He remembers the roads, the clusters of references, the subdivision made up of streets named after the letters in the Greek alphabet.

Tommy still lives on Beta in the brick ranch they grew up in, and it takes Billy a minute before he's ready to unlock his doors and step out onto the driveway. The place looks almost exactly as he remembers, the picture window at the front of the house even has a few Halloween cutouts up that look familiar.

"Weird," he remarks.

"Is it?" Tommy asks, breezing past and walking to the door on the side of the house, the one they always used more than the actual front door. The locks on the door look new, shiny and polished, but Billy burrows his face down into the wool scarf he's got wound around his neck rather than saying something about it. He's not entirely sure he'd like the answer.

The door swings open after Tommy fumbles a bit with the key (on anyone else his actions would look nervous, but Billy knows it's nervous _energy_ , which his cousin is full of on even the calmest of days) and Billy is hit with warm air as soon as he steps inside.

"He's cooking," Tommy hisses, locking the door behind them. "It's all he ever does, is cook. Well, that and sleep."

"Is he any good at it?" Billy asks, curious. Tommy's usually hesitant to talk about his dad these days, but in this situation there's not much he's going to be able to do to get out of it.

Tommy turns in the tight hallway they're in and makes a face as Billy toes off his shoes and begins to unwrap the scarf from around his face.

"He can boil water," he says, finally, before motioning for Billy to follow. Stairs to the basement are to the left and the doorway to the kitchen is to the right. The layout of the house was fuzzy when Billy thought about it on the drive here, but now it's coming back to him easily.

The kitchen is brightly lit and full of steam. Pietro is standing in front of the oven, looking serious. Billy hasn't seen his uncle since he was twelve, and by all accounts the man hasn't changed much. He's still got a shock of white hair, a tall build and questionable fashion sense. It's a little comforting.

"What are you making?" Tommy asks while Billy hangs back. He dips in towards the stove and eyes the pot the steam is coming from.

"Don't know yet," Pietro responds and that's—that’s where Billy finds a difference. He's used to vibrancy, to a voice that's larger than life. What he hears is someone who's drained.

"Billy's here," Tommy says, and that's a little troubling, too, that he has to point it out. He pulls at his tie and glances between them. "I'm gonna go change, can't stand this work shit. You two, uh, get reaquainted, I guess."

With Tommy gone, Pietro's eyes fall on Billy for the first time, and Billy tries to smile, but knows it's forced.

"Hey," he says, casually as he can manage.

"Hey," Pietro echoes, before blinking a few times, looking like he's trying to wake up. "Hey, Billy. It's really good to see you. I hope Tommy isn't trying to make you pay rent, wouldn't put it past him. I told him, you know, with the settlement money on top of his salary there's no reason you can't stay here for a while, free of charge."

"Yeah, no, he told me." Billy pulls at the ends of the sleeves of his dress shirt, tries to look anywhere but at his uncle's eyes. "It's, I mean, I can't thank you enough."

"That's what family's for," Pietro replies, and it sounds like a recording, like an actor delivering a flat line. He turns back to the stove and Billy feels like he doesn't exist anymore, not as far as Pietro's concerned, anyway.

He stares at the man's back and wonders what happened.

(Knows exactly what happened, but still can't quite believe it.)

.

"It smells a little like mothballs, but it's still better than any hotel room I'd be in," Billy says, sitting on the edge of the bed and twisting the cord of the phone around his fingers. "I mean, that's good, right?"

On the other end of the line Kate _hmph_ s. "Doesn't sound to me like you're too happy about the situation."

"Well," Billy pauses for a moment, wouldn't put it past Tommy to be right outside the door, listening in. But he can hear the faint sound of a television on and people talking just over the din of that, so he figures it's fine to talk freely. "No, okay, I'm not. But it's like I told you, I knew it was going to be awkward. The last time I saw them was a pretty awful situation. Everything considered...I'm grateful, really."

"I know." He can almost see her looking at her nails so she doesn't have to look at him when she says things that are hard to say. "And you should be, but that doesn't mean you have to pretend like things are going better than they actually are."

"Yeah, you're right," Billy sighs, falling back and closing his eyes. "My uncle made dinner, actually. It wasn't half bad. Not as good as my mom's cooking, but I didn't projectile vomit afterwards, so I'm counting it as a win."

Kate makes a noise of disbelief. He can hear her typing. She's probably only half paying attention to what he's saying, but he's used to that. She's too busy to give her full attention to anyone, these days, and he's happy for her. She's worked hard to earn it, even if some people suspect otherwise.

"Well," she says, after a moment of comfortable silence, "I'm glad, then. I miss you already, but you aren't too far away. And as long as you're okay with it, so am I."

Billy can't help but smile and, really, the more he looks at the ceiling the more he thinks that it isn't that big of a change.

.

He sleeps fitfully, waking up every few hours and tossing and turning to get comfortable. The house with its wooden floors is colder than he remembers, and feels emptier too. He knows Tommy's room is right down the hall, and that provides some amount of comfort, but not much.

Still, it's better sleep than he was getting in the city the last few months.

(There'd been a family picture set on the dresser, a mother and her son, both of them smiling bright, and that's in one of the drawers now, but he knows it's there and his eyes burn when he thinks about it.)

.

( _Teddy_ )

It takes three or four shakes to get his flashlight to work, as always.

"Christ," he mutters, shining it around the living room. There's really nothing else he can say. Two bodies and it's not pretty. He's got reports of gunfire and a wide open front door, and it's—he has to call it in. He stands on the front porch for half a minute, feeling a little like he's going to sick. He wonders if he'd be used to this if he lived in the city, still. Thinks about the blood spatter, the empty eye socket, the wrongness of a skull that’s been crushed in, and decides that he's glad he's not used to it.

Then he sucks it up and strides quickly down the front walk and to where his car is parked on the side of road, opens the passenger side door and fumbles with his radio for a few seconds before he manages to get a grip on it and report a double homicide.

.

The lead for the forensics team asks him if he wants to sit down for about the tenth time. She's a nice woman, but too timid to force him to do anything, and he just shakes his head at her and moves past her towards the kitchen. He's seen enough of the living room by now.

"Cassie was, um, well, probably twenty five?" Eli's saying where he's leaned against the counter. There's still coffee sitting in the pot near his elbow. "She was twenty five, wasn't she Teddy?"

Teddy looks up, breathes out, shakes his head. "Twenty four, her birthday was in a few weeks, actually." He's always had a good memory for dates, but right now he almost wishes he didn't. His comment only serves to make a sad situation even sadder.

The guy Eli's talking to pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and nods before ducking to write the information down.

"Hey, anything else you need, we'll be outside," Eli says, with a smile. Usually Teddy's the one with the smiles. "Me and my partner need to talk."

Teddy feels himself being led out of the house, Eli's hand on his back, between his shoulder blades, something he wouldn't have done even a year ago. A lot has changed since then. A lot has changed since this morning.

Once they're outside he almost feels like he can breathe. Almost.

"I don't think we should be on this case," Eli says, bluntly, as soon as he's got the door closed behind him. "You knew them. I knew them. We all went to high school together. There's personal emotions invested in this as long as we're involved."

Teddy lets out a shaky breath that he tries to turn into a laugh. "Who's going to handle this besides us? Larson's got that drug bust going on, he's been working on that for weeks now and I'm pretty sure Rogers is still on guard at the military base. We can't just swap cases with anyone. I took the call, I didn't even recognize the address, man, not until I pulled up, and by then..."

"Yeah." Eli licks at his lips. "I mean, no matter who's handling this there's going to be a conflict of interests. Even if people didn't know Cassie, everyone knows her dad. And Jonas, he's about the smartest kid this town's ever seen."

"He was," Teddy corrects, quietly and Eli goes quiet at that, arms across his chest, guarded.

They get to work after that.

.

It doesn't take long for the bloodsuckers to arrive, curious people driving by and more than a handful of neighbors crowding around the driveway. It's nothing new, nothing surprising. They live in a relatively small town, but it's not so small that things like this don't happen on occasion. Teddy can break up crowds with practiced ease.

Now, discouraging white-haired pretty boy reporters from getting some information for the next edition of the local paper? That's a different story.

"Really, Tommy?" he says, one hand on his belt out of habit. "I know the vultures are already circling, but I thought you'd have some tact in this situation."

Tommy makes a face that says tact is the last thing on his mind.

"Who is it?" he asks, leaning to the side like there's really going to be anything to see from where they're standing, twenty feet from the front door.

Teddy leans with him and gets glared at for his trouble. "Cassie Lang and Jonas Ingram. You can't tell me you didn't know them."

"Shit," Tommy breathes and there's that flutter of sadness in his eyes, the look that Teddy sees on him just enough to understand what it means. "Still, though, a story's a story. And I need a story. I got kids to feed, Altman."

"Kids." Teddy snorts. The only person he's closer to than Eli in this place is Tommy. "Who are you trying to fool with that line?"

"Alright, well, no kids, but I've got my cousin living with me from out of town."

"You don't say."

"I do." Tommy's got a devious grin on his face and Teddy knows this look too. It's no good and it never ends well. "You know, we actually look a lot alike. If it wasn't for the hair, I mean. People used to think we were brothers when we were little. You guys might, uh—"

"If there's one thing I learned from college it's that dating a Maximoff is not worth the time or energy invested," Teddy interjects and Tommy scrunches up his nose at that, going for dejected and landing somewhere more near constipated. It's a good look, really.

"Our definitions of 'dating' vary considerably," he sniffs, "but whatever, your loss. If you won't screw my cousin into the ground then how about a drink later?"

"Oh, right, an innocent invitation." Teddy grimaces. "Like I don't know you're going to try and loosen my lips and get as much information from me about this case as you can."

"So," Tommy says, beaming and walking backwards, "six, then? Mel's?"

Teddy doesn't answer, but he files away the time, the place.

Six, then. Mel's.

.

( _Tommy_ )

Tommy orders a cheeseburger, no mayo, fries and a beer, like he always does. He doesn't really have to say anything. The waitress knows him, he knows her. He thinks they made out once, is pretty sure her name is Miranda. Marina. Marissa. One of those, the type of girl who's name you feel bad about forgetting, because she's really such a nice person.

He makes a point of smiling openly at her when she comes back with his food on a tray and she smiles back, looking a little unsure, but not uncomfortable.

He's always had a way with people. Not a particularly good way, not with everyone, but he can handle people. Sometimes that means smiling at them, other time it means punching them in the face. As he's gotten older it means training himself to think faster than he talks, not at all an easy task. Stupid things still slip out from time to time, but he's gotten better over the years.

He's licking ketchup off his thumb when Teddy shows, the blonde getting stopped twice on his way over to Tommy's booth.

Tommy rolls his eyes. Teddy told him once he isn't overly fond of the attention, but that's what he gets, being a cop in one of the few towns in America where people still think that automatically makes him a good person. Granted, Tommy thinks, swilling the dregs of his beer, Teddy's the type of guy who'll make you forget most cops are assholes.

"Hey," says Teddy, when he finally slides into the seat across from Tommy.

Tommy nods, pushes his basket of fries across the table.

They eat in silence for the better part of twenty minutes. It's actually—well, it's normal.

They ran in different social circles in high school, but were always subtly aware of one another. If Teddy's the exception to the rule of corrupt cops, then he was also the exception the rule of jerkass jocks. Tommy wasn't so nice, but his whole fuck the world attitude had run its course by senior year, or at least he'd learned that he wasn't getting anywhere wearing it on his sleeve like he did.

And everyone had always said that things after high school were different, but Tommy guesses no one ever really got it across to him just how different things would be.

At sixteen he never would have even dared to entertain the thought that he'd be writing for the local paper during the day and talking over beers with Teddy Altman in the local dive a few nights a week.

"So," he says, cheeseburger gone and a new beer in hand, "Cassie Lang, huh?"

"Cassie Lang." Teddy sighs heavily and Tommy's sympathetic. He doesn't show it, not by reaching out or anything, but he feels it nonetheless. "It was pretty awful."

"Yeah?" Tommy shifts a little bit, leather of the booth creaking underneath him. "You know, I'm going to find out details one way or another. I'd really rather not go to the morgue, but." He shrugs.

Teddy's rubbing his fingers into his eyes, the rings on his fingers glinting with light. "I know. It was just—Christ, you didn't see it. I found them. Got a call about gunshots from the neighbor. Mrs. Christiansen, remember her?"

"God, yeah, she was a lunch lady at Seneca," Tommy says, "she used to yell at us for talking too loud."

"Yeah, well, she's stuck to her guns about noise control." Teddy laughs, but it sounds fake and broken. "We're always getting calls from her. It usually turns out to be nothing but a raccoon or, I don't know, a couple of kids, something like that."

Tommy frowns, can tell that this is hard for Teddy to talk about. He wants to reach out, but it's not his place. Not anymore.

"Dispatch called for me on the radio because she likes me," Teddy continues, and he's got his eyes trained on the condiments, the salt and pepper shakers, the dessert menu. "She'll yell at Eli or whoever else they send out, so it was like this big joke. The guy was like, you know, have fun seeing your girlfriend Altman. Eli thinks sometimes she calls just to see me. But it was...I pulled up and the front door of the place next door was wide open, and I could just feel it. That something was wrong."

There's condensation forming on Tommy's beer bottle. He doesn't say anything. His throat hurts. He thinks he might be getting a cold, all the drainage that happens during these cold winter months.

"I don't have a gun, none of us do, we're not city cops." Teddy runs a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking. "And they just—we had the coroner in and she said the sheer amount of brute force that was involved...there was blood everywhere. The perp shot Cassie, but Jonas...I couldn't even tell it was him."

Teddy swallows, and Tommy, unconsciously, does the same.

"I couldn't even tell it was a person," Teddy says in a whisper, his eyes wide.

A song starts up on the other end of the bar. It's Fleetwood Mac. Stevie Nicks sounds more sad than she does angry.

Tommy motions for their waitress. He's going to need another beer.

.

Tommy leans back against the side door once it's closed behind him, closes his eyes, lets himself drift for a minute. He's always been able to do this. Go anywhere he wants, for just a few minutes. He thinks about mountains this time, a high altitude and a place to come home to.

He breathes out and steps away from the door, makes his way into the house.

His dad is sitting on the couch in front of the television, one of those home shopping networks that's still broadcasting at three in the morning. Tommy doesn't bother saying hello. No one's really there, anyway.

In his room he peels off his clothes, would normally be militant about throwing the stuff in his hamper (has had to train himself to be, it goes against his nature) but doesn't bother. He falls face first into his bed, groans into his pillow and tries not to think about anything.

Please, please, he thinks, don't think about it.

It's one of those nights where he doesn't fall asleep, where he lays awake, where he can't stop thinking and the light starts seeping in through the blinds on his window and his alarm's going to go off in twenty-three minutes, anyway, so fuck it. He gets up.

He dresses.

He stumbles over the vaccuum cleaner in the hallway and stares at himself, bleary-eyed, in the mirror over the bathroom sink while he brushes his teeth.

He eats a bagel and sits on the counter in the kitchen, something which Billy, stupid and oblivious Billy, reprimands him for, while he eats Raisin Bran like a thirty year old man might.

He thinks about how Cassie and Jonas, two people he's known since middle school, won't ever be thirty, and presses the sleeve of his jacket to his eyes in the hallway by the side door, tries not to scream.

.

Barton says, "I'm gonna need that piece on the double homicide by this afternoon for editing," standing in the doorway with his coffee cup and lax nature. Tommy nods at him from his desk.

"I knew them," he says, though he's not sure why.

"Mhm." Barton takes a sip of coffee. He looks sympathetic, but Tommy knows he's a realist. "Everyone knows someone. Everyone who died, people know them."

"They were good people," Tommy adds, like that's going to help get his point across. He doesn't even know what his point is. "Cassie was working in early ed, Jonas—I don't know what he did. Something with computers, maybe?" He thinks that sounds right.

Barton scratches at his cheek. He doesn't look awkward, just maybe a little perturbed. Tommy doesn't get like this.

"I'm sure they were," Barton says after a lengthy silence. "You have until three."

Tommy hasn't cried in years, not really. But he almost wants to as he watches Barton walk away, feels the weight of the world upon him.

.

He ends up turning in garbage. Thinks to himself, whatever, he works for a paper that calls itself a Gazette. He isn't exactly here to win a Pulitzer. Never mind that he's pretty sure Barton was giving him a chance with this story since it's almost sure to be on the front page.

Most of his work is reporting, but it's rarely anything as permanent as this is liable to be. Every time there's a new lead in this case he's almost sure to be the guy assigned to follow up on it. He's twenty-five, he has an office because there was one too many, not because he earned it, and he's not even sure he wants to do this for the rest of his life.

He remembers when he was fresh out of high school, somehow made it despite everything. He'd asked his dad, like, what now? He didn't have any plans, he didn't have anything he was passionate about, not like he figured he was supposed to.

His dad had been so bad back then, even worse than he is now, he'd just said, "Keep going," like it was some sort of death sentence.

And Tommy had, he'd gone to community college and worked shitty jobs and he'd bumped into Teddy at a party when he was nineteen, and he'd been so sad.

He'd thought—really thought—those days were behind him, those days of running away from his problems, using someone else as a way to pretend like he was coping. Like if he was blowing Teddy Altman in the back of his car his life, like, meant something.

He was so fucking stupid, and that's the thing.

He still is.

.

( _Billy_ )

He wakes up at four in the morning covered in a cold sweat and unable to fall back asleep. He can't remember what he was dreaming about, but he's pretty sure it isn't anything he particularly wants to remember anyway. He stares at the red numbers of the clock on the bedside stand for ten minutes before he gets up and heads for the kitchen.

The sliding door to the backyard is ajar and he finds Tommy sitting on the patio, coffee in hands, looking out across the backyard like there's more to see than the broken down firepit and the shed where they used to keep their bikes and the lawn mower.

"Can't sleep?" he asks, sitting in the folded chair next to his cousin's, knowing it's an obvious question, but having nothing else to say.

Tommy doesn't look at him, but he goes, "Nope, just thought I'd try out sleep deprivation for the hell of it."

It's not funny. Tommy sniffs and his hands tighten around his coffee mug. Billy wishes he knew what to say.

It's been, he thinks, five days, since Cassie and Jonas were found dead.

Cassie, he remembers Cassie. He remembers Cassie having a precocious sort of crush on him in elementary school, her face turning bright red whenever he said her name. He always counted her amongst the people he liked, and there weren't many of them around here. He didn't know her well, but he knew her enough. Knew her dad as the meteorologist on the local news, always got a kick out of that as a kid. You didn't usually think of people on television having kids.

He never met Jonas. He's gathered that he didn't live in the area until he met Cassie at college. The town usually doesn't take too well to outsiders, a lot of people stuck in that weird 1950's mindset that anyone who grew up somewhere different doesn't really belong. But people seemed to have liked him despite that, which says a lot.

Says a lot—but Billy still doesn't know what to say.

Sorry won't mean anything from him. Tommy doesn't want to hear sorry from anyone, anyway. Billy's known that since he was about five years old, and sometimes he thinks less has changed since then about his cousin than he'd like to admit.

"What about you?" Tommy nudges Billy's knee with his own. "Bad dream?"

He asks nonchalantly, but his eyes are searching, and it feels very much like they're twelve again, those awkward eight months during which Tommy acted like an overprotective older brother towards him, even going so far as to get into fights for him. Or maybe it's more like when they were in second grade and their dog died and Billy couldn't sleep alone for a week.

"Um, maybe," Billy says, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, hands wrapped up in the sleeves of his henly. "I don't really remember, but it feels like that's probably what it was. Maybe something about my mom. I don't know."

Tommy eyes him with barely hidden worry. His coffee must be cold by now.

"Hey." It hits Billy, suddenly, what he should probably say. "I'm fine, you know? I'm glad I came here. The city wasn't for me. I think I was stupid for trying to pretend like I was too good for this place."

"Oh, yeah?" Tommy grins and it's not quite real, but it's getting there. "Tell me something I didn't know. This place is too good for _you_."

Billy rolls his eyes, and together they watch the sunrise.

.

"Hey, uh." Billy looks up from his desk to find Tommy with a bag slung over his shoulder and a look on his face that says he's about the propose they do something stupid. "Want to get out of here?"

"Tommy, we're at work," Billy says, as slowly as he can, somewhat worried Tommy's forgotten this fact.

"No, I know." Tommy casts a furtive glance around. No one else is even looking at him, everyone so self-absorbed in their own work. "But, you know, you just sit here all day, doing nothing—"

"Drawing," Billy corrects, to no avail.

"—and I don't know, I thought you might like a change of pace?"

The look on Tommy's face is hopeful. Billy knows what this is. This is Tommy saying thank you for this morning, for Billy helping him snap out of a stupor that all but devoured him over the last few days. That he's essentially asking Billy to skip sixth period is beside the point, it's touching in a Tommy sort of way.

"Clint really won't mind?" he asks, and now he's the one glancing around to make sure no one's listening in.

"Oh, he's Clint now?" Tommy looks physically pained. "Christ, no, Billy. I'm going to talk to one of the cops on the case, try and get a quote about how things are progressing. You're allowed to go out, you know. Claim you're, I don't know, looking for inspiration. Barton eats that shit up like it's a gourmet meal."

Billy leans back in his chair, sighs and rolls his eyes. Tommy grins, knowing he's as good as got an affirmative.

.

"When I said I'd pay for the meal," Tommy grumbles, glaring across the booth at Billy, "it wasn't an open invitation to gorge yourself."

"It's cute how you learned all those big words in college," Billy replies, dipping a fry into his milkshake.

Tommy makes a gagging motion. "Guh, you're gross."

They fall into silence but it isn't altogether uncomfortable. Billy's reminded, for a moment, of being kids, of not even remembering the first time they met, because it was like they were always together. There were more times than he cares to count that he would go to Tommy's room after school and sit on the foot of the bed, content to do nothing but just be there with him.

Being back in town is weird in so many ways, but he's glad he's been able to more or less slide right back into place with the person who’s practically his brother.

"So, this guy," Billy says as he's finishing up one half of his club sandwich, "he's, what, some old police officer? The kind who's seen it all?"

"Not exactly," Tommy answers, slowly, a little bit sheepishly. "Actually, uh—oh, he's right there." Tommy makes a flippant hand gesture, points across the diner towards the door that's just swung open and the tall blonde who's obviously just walked in, still wearing a heavy coat and with cheeks red from the wind outside.

Billy turns back to Tommy and whispers, urgently, "Dude, him? He's, like, hot and shit. I can't sit here and have a normal conversation with him, you know how I am."

"Oh my god, pathetic much?" Tommy winces, but he's whispering back, waving the blonde over. "We're not in middle school. He's cool. Hey!"

"Hey," replies the blonde, who's made it over to the booth and is unzipping his coat, looking back and forth between the two. "Man, you weren't kidding about the family resemblance. Are you sure you're not—?"

"Eh, about 50/50, could go either way." Tommy wobbles a hand all while widening his eyes at Billy who's making a show of staring at the extra pickle on the side of his plate and pretending this isn't happening. "Uh. Here let me move over, Teddy."

Billy watches, out the corner of his eye as the blonde (Teddy) graciously waits for Tommy to move his slow ass. Well, actually he waits a little awkwardly, and Tommy moves as fast as he usually does. The whole thing's coming across a little rose-tinted, which is worrying. Billy hasn't done this since his junior year in high school when he actually thought he had a chance with Ken D'Amico in his anatomy and physiology class.

He would have had more of a chance with one of the anatomical models than he had with Ken D'Amico.

"So, Teddy this is Billy and, you know, vice versa." Tommy waves his hands between them.

Teddy offers his hand and Billy chokes back a laugh. It's so, like, _Leave It To Beaver_ , but he likes it. They shake hands, and Billy realizes, as he pulls his back, that he had some mayo on his fingers. There's really nothing else he can be but mortified. This guy is going to think he's some sort of lecherous psycho who's trying to send a message.

Teddy and Tommy launch into a long-winded discussion of the case they're both in on and all Billy can do is think that this is not how this was supposed to go. He should have slid over! He could literally have been two inches from a gorgeous blonde! He could have surreptitiously let their elbows touch, they could have had a moment.

He could have at least said hello.

"Tommy says you knew them?"

Billy's head snaps up from where he's furiously wiping his hand off with a napkin. "What?"

"You knew Cassie and Jonas."

Teddy looks like the type of guy who's only being nice because he's just such a nice guy. Tommy looks like he'd really like to reach across the table and strangle Billy.

"Um, Cassie, yes, I knew Cassie." Billy pauses. "I'd like to meet Jonas. Would have liked to have met him, I mean, if—well if, you know."

"Yeah," Tommy says, sighing heavily. "We know. Well, that obviously isn't going to go anywhere. Sorry, he's usually more put together than this. He's practically making me look good by comparison."

Teddy laughs awkwardly, probably unsure of how else to react. Billy wants to kick Tommy under the table and tell him not to talk about him like he isn't here and normally he would, but he really doesn't feel like coming across as even more childish than he already has.

"Well, I'm actually on duty you know, just taking a break," Teddy says, and Tommy nods like he knows how that all works (which is...weird). "So I'm going to have to get going in a few minutes, but—"

"I need a quote, Altman," Tommy interjects, eyes narrowed and focused. It's a look Tommy gets when he really wants something, and Billy remembers seeing it at invitationals for the track team in middle school, when Billy and his mom would go to meets upstate and sit in the bleachers with Pietro, all of them watching Tommy break records every other week. Suddenly, Billy wonders if this guy, this Teddy was ever there, and he gives him a once over and something clicks.

"Don't know what to tell you, Maximoff," Teddy shrugs, smiling warmly, like Tommy used to be an annoyance but has become a tolerable one over time. "It's slow going. It's probably going to become a cold case. Stuff like this, if you don't find someone in twenty four hours it's usually a bust."

"Not in this town, though," Tommy points out and he looks to Billy like he needs back up on this. Billy offers him a weary look. "Come on, everyone knows everyone, there's no way someone doesn't come forward eventually."

Teddy, standing up now, says, "Let's hope so. I gotta go, though. I'll talk to you later. And it was...nice meeting you, Billy."

As soon as the door of the diner closes behind the blonde Tommy glares harshly across the table.

"What was that?" he hisses.

Which prompts Billy to fire back with the only thing that's in his arsenal right now.

"You're totally fucking him."

"What?" Anger melting away, Tommy turns pink. It's just at the tips of his nose and his ears, but it shows so well on his pale skin and under tufts of white hair. "No! I mean yes, but not anymore." Billy makes an accusatory noise. "We haven't done anything in months, and even that was like a one time thing to get it out of his system or whatever the hell he—"

"Doesn't matter," Billy shakes his head. "You want it to happen again. So does he, I think, though he's a little harder to read since I haven't known him all my natural born life." A pause. "And I also really didn't want to look at his face."

Tommy throws a wadded up napkin across the table. "Drop it. You don't get to talk like that after you acted like a first grader with a crush. Actual first graders can get away with that shit. A grown man just looks like an idiot. Not cute."

Billy sighs. "We're hopeless."

"Truer words," Tommy agrees.

They never do go back to work.

.

( _Teddy_ )

Eli's got their car parked a few blocks over under the guise of watching for anyone who's speeding, like that's even their job. Teddy's told him a million times that it's a flimsy excuse for taking a break, but Eli never wants to hear it. The guy's an infallibly hard work when there's actually things to do, but isn't overly proactive.

"How'd that go?" Eli asks as he opens the door and gets in. Teddy busies himself with trying to find his gloves and makes a face. "That bad?"

"No, it wasn't bad." The gloves aren't in the glove box. They never are. "It was just—you know how Tommy is. And then his cousin was there, Billy, I think? And, I don't know. He kind of seemed emotionally disturbed or something."

Eli makes a noise of disbelief. "Billy Maximoff?"

"Uh." Teddy looks up from where he's found one of his gloves, hidden under an empty McDonald's bag. "I guess so? Tommy said they were cousins so they might have the same last name."

"Yeah, man, that's his name." Eli laughs, though it's humorless. "He's uh. Well, I wouldn't be surprised if he's emotionally disturbed by now, for real. When we were kids he and Tommy were inseparable. It was almost a little creepy. I remember the first time I watched _The Shining_ , my grandpa let me stay up late, and there are those twins, you know? Totally made me think of the Maximoffs."

"The twins in the _The Shining_ are girls in party dresses," Teddy points out, putting on his gloves. The other one was in one of the pockets of his coat, with him the whole time.

"Yeah," Eli shrugs. "Still. You didn't know them back then. I went over to their house a few times. I didn't really think anything of it at the time, but it was a weird fucking situation."

"I don't even want to know." Teddy puts his hands up, surrender. "Let's just get going."

Eli turns the key in the ignition, goes, "Probably for the best, man. Probably for the best."

.

It's almost midnight and Teddy really doesn't know what else to do.

Eli's passed out on his couch, probably drank himself into a stupor. He's never held his alcohol as well as Teddy, but at least he doesn't puke his guts out like he used to in high school.

Teddy's moderately buzzed, but it's nothing he can't handle. They've got reports spread all over the place, most of them due in the next few days, and Teddy is pretty sure they're going to catch hell, because they have nothing to report. Honestly sometimes he misses just issuing parking tickets, wishes he and Eli hadn't made it their goal to actually work homicide.

It's not even like they really just work homicide, this town isn't big enough to necessitate a whole department devoted to a crime that hardly ever takes place in it. It’s more that they’ve garnered enough trust from the higher-ups to get assigned to the more serious stuff from time to time. Mostly they end up with vehicular manslaughter cases and doing once overs of things where a death was actually accidental. Teddy's pretty sure he's talked more to insurance representatives than he has suspects.

Which reminds him, they don't have any for this whole thing.

He groans and pushes some papers around the coffee table, going over things for the millionth time. They covered the whole parents angle, but Cassie's real dad's been dead for years now and her step-dad, while volatile, was in Hawaii with her mom on some sort of second honeymoon. Jonas grew up in a series of foster parent homes after his parents died when he was just a toddler, and from the looks of it he hasn't had contact with any of them since he left the system almost seven years ago.

Usually after ruling out relatives they'd move onto friends, but there's just no damn motive to be found there. Cassie and Jonas were well-liked, but pretty quiet. Anyone they'd known for years hadn't seen them much over the past few weeks. Neither of them had close friends where they worked, but both were considered hard workers who didn't make any trouble.

There were no fingerprints at the scene that led to anything. Teddy still thinks the partial they found on Jonas' watch might be significant, but whoever it belongs to isn't in AFIS, so it’s a dead end for the moment.

"Christ," he whispers, rubbing at his eyes. There's nothing, and for the first time in his career he honestly doesn't know what to do. This isn't a case he can, in good conscious, turn his back on. But if he doesn't start producing results soon they're going to take it away from him. He already had to plead his case, swearing up and down that he barely knew Cassie and only met Jonas a handful of times.

He checks his answering machine and for once he's happy to see he has a missed call. It's from Tommy (like it usually is) and he calls him back without really thinking.

"—be stupid," Teddy hears Tommy say, the tail end of some conversation he's having, then, "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me, you called," Teddy replies, and he knows his exhaustion is obvious. His eyes feel like they're on fire.

"Oh, right." Tommy pauses and laughs, and Teddy thinks he hears someone else talking. "I was just wondering—"

"There's nothing, Tommy," Teddy whines, sinking back into the arm chair he's sitting in, cord just reaching. It's not as comfortable as the couch and he glares at Eli. "I've been going over everything for hours and I don't even want to think about it anymore, so can we please not talk about it?"

"Shit, okay," Tommy mutters, though Teddy doesn't really think for a second that he really wants to drop the subject. “Fine, are you...is—I don’t know what the fuck to talk about.”

“Then maybe that’s your cue to hang up,” Teddy says, though not unkindly. “Look, I’ve got Eli on my couch and an early shift in the morning, but we can probably do dinner at Mel’s if you’re free. I think they’re still doing that thing on Wednesdays with the free drinks.”

“You know just how to sweet talk a guy,” Tommy murmurs, then sighs. “Can’t really say no to that, I guess. I’d say I’d bring Billy along, but then I figure you’d probably bring Mr. Serious to even things out, and you know how I can’t stand that.”

“Eli’s not that serious,” Teddy grumbles, feeling offended on behalf of his sleeping partner. “I mean, if you’re gonna go there then I’m sorry but your cousin was pretty rude. I don’t even think he looked at me once.”

“Oh, did your feelings get hurt?” Tommy simpers, voice sickly (fake) sweet.

“No, I’m not five, Tommy, but there is such a thing as common courtesy,” Teddy retaliates, and there’s nothing but static silence in response for a moment.

“What _ever_ ,” Tommy finally says, and he really hasn’t changed since high school in a lot of ways. “I’ll see you tomorrow night then, no Billy.”

“It’s a date,” Teddy agrees and, as he hangs up, he realizes he kind of wishes it actually was.

.

( _Tommy_ )

He lets the phone drop back into the cradle that’s sitting on his stomach and stares up at the ceiling for a few long minutes before turning to Billy who’s sitting on the floor and pretending to flip through a magazine.

“He thinks you’re rude,” he says, passively.

Billy makes an indignant sound in the back of his throat as he looks up. “ _Rude_? I was actively trying not to come off as some sort of depraved freak, he should be thanking me, really.”

“To be fair you did seem more interested in your food than you did in his existence,” Tommy points out with a shrug. Billy shoots him a laser-pointed death glare that hardly even phases him seeing as he’s seen it about a million times. “I’m just saying, if you _are_ interested in him maybe you should pay attention to him next time you see him.”

“Pft.” Billy viciously turns a page in the magazine with a _thwak_. “I’ll pass. He’s your boyfriend, anyway. Or he was. I don’t need your sloppy seconds.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Tommy protests, but Billy’s doing his whole thing where he’s very adamantly not listening, so Tommy just falls back on his bed again, phone still on his stomach, weighing him down.

This all—offering to let Billy stay here, thinking it was a good idea to introduce him to Teddy, still living here at all—was not his best idea, upon reflection. He’d been all set to move out just a few months ago, and then Billy had called all snivelling and world weary and Tommy, as usual, put his entire life on hold for the only person he’s ever even considered slowing down for. And, as _usual_ , it's all coming back to bite him in the ass.

He can still hear Billy turning pages, moving softly, breathing, and it’s so distracting, he almost wants to ask him to leave, but he doesn’t.

And isn’t that just their relationship in a nutshell?

.

Tommy spends the next day at work bullshitting his way through his drafts, taking hours to edit what would typically take him thirty minutes. It doesn’t really matter, it’s a fluff piece, there’s nothing new to say, just a few snippets from friends and family and the official police statement, which basically amounts to _we have no fucking clue_.

He shrugs off Billy at the end of the day and takes special care to not look at how his cousin looks hurt and probably more than a little lost because it’s depressingly easy for them to guilt trip each other, and he just isn’t in the mood to mope around today.

Mel’s isn’t too entirely crowded which, he guesses, is the reason for the whole free drink thing they run, not that it seems to help much.

He waits for Teddy for about twenty minutes, sitting alone in a booth and picking at his food, before he gets up, throws a tip down on the table, pays his bill and leaves.

Of course, Teddy ends up catching him just as he’s leaving out the side door (like he always does, the front door is a mess of _excuse me_ s and _no, after you_ s that he doesn’t have time for). Teddy’s fingers on the sleeve of his jacket and Teddy’s saying something, too, breathlessly, like, “Sorry, we got—” but Tommy doesn’t _care_.

It’s been awhile since they’ve kissed—even longer since they’ve done it in public, he’s pretty sure—but it’s still too easy, just leaning up that little bit, fingers moving from the nape of Teddy’s neck to thread up through his hair, and Tommy pushes backwards so Teddy stumbles up against someone’s car and suddenly there’s a loud shrieking car alarm going off, lights flashing and Tommy can’t stop laughing.

Teddy looks at him like he’s crazy and for a second Tommy’s worried he’s going to make them stay and explain the situation to whoever it is that owns the car, but he seems to think better of that and just holds out his hand and, thank God, Tommy thinks, not for the first time, that Teddy lives just ten minutes away.

They walk and it’s honestly hard not to just stop and fuck under the overpass by Cedarwood (Tommy suggests this, Teddy makes a face), but it’s not so bad overall. It’s cold, but in the way they’re used to, with wet clumps of leaves on people’s lawns and street lights buzzing, neither of them wearing gloves though they probably should be.

Teddy’s apartment is in a huge complex that sprawls across several blocks and Tommy tries to remember how many times he’s snuck in here by waiting for one of the other tenants to leave.

“Ten or eleven,” he thinks, “all before you gave me a key.”

“Remind me why I did that again?”

Once they’re inside, Tommy does.

Or he means to anyway, has Teddy halfway into the bedroom and is pulling his shirt over his head when Teddy makes a noise like he’s taking a sudden breath after having been underwater. Tommy stops where he is, arms over his head and the world covered in the green fabric of his shirt, goes, “That didn’t sound promising.”

“We really shouldn’t do this,” Teddy says, quietly, and there’s the sound of bed springs squeaking, of Teddy sighing.

Tommy brings his arms down, pulls the hem of his shirt down so it covers his stomach again and echoes the sigh before going to kneel in front of Teddy.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “If you don’t want to fuck I can blow you, I don’t care.”

“We broke up,” Teddy reminds him.

“I’m sexually liberated like that.” Tommy’s got his hands on Teddy’s knees and at this point he knows it’s a lost cause. “And, I mean, technically, we were never dating.”

“More like,” Teddy says, sounding tired, “you never knew we were dating.”

“Okay.” Tommy stands up, not without a little awkwardness, and sits next to Teddy on the bed. “Let’s not point fingers, this is getting stupid. I wanted—you know what I wanted, but if you need something else from me I’m here.”

“I need to not be alone,” is what Teddy says, and it’s not entirely a surprise to hear it, though it sounds like it’s hard for him to say.

“All you had to do was ask.”

Upstairs there are people yelling and downstairs there’s a tv blaring, but in Teddy’s apartment on the second floor there’s barely any sound at all.

.

It’s not the first time he wakes up alone in Teddy’s bed, so it isn’t that alarming, although he has to stop himself from reaching out for warmth. That’s just a basic human response to cold air on bare skin, which is currently making goosebumps rise and the air on his arms stand straight up.

He wanders around the apartment wrapped in Teddy’s comforter, managing to only knock over two things, which is a personal record and something that he is very proud of.

He’s in the middle of eating a bowl of cereal and staring blankly towards the stove when he realizes it’s a Thursday morning and he’s going to be late to work. As such, he dresses as slowly as possible and eats another bowl of cereal for good measure.

Billy’s always said he’s only fast when he really _wants_ to be, and he probably isn’t entirely wrong about that.

He makes a call from Teddy’s phone while he’s putting on a tie he’s pretty sure he gave the blonde for a birthday present two years ago.

Says, “Yeah, sorry, I’m going to be late, got a little tied up,” and wishes that was true, wishes he had Teddy here telling him to stay.

(He distinctly remembers that happening more than once one semester when he had a class at eight on Saturday mornings, and it was only by sheer luck that he passed that class at all.)

Teddy left a note on his little corkboard near the front door that says _Take my bike 28-5-29_ , which is good because Tommy’s car is still sitting in the parking lot at Mel’s and is probably accumulating frost like no one’s business and he doesn’t really have the time to go there when work’s in the complete opposite direction and really not that far away.

Besides, he thinks as he kicks the kickstand back and swings his leg over the bike, it’s just another excuse to come back here tonight.

.

( _Billy_ )

Tommy shows up wearing the same dress shirt he wore out the night before and a tie Billy hasn’t seen him wear once in the past month, which is especially suspicious considering Tommy owns a grand total of three ties.

Billy thinks about not pressing the issue but also thinks, no, he really can’t just let it go, because there’s something going on and he doesn’t know what, which is not a state of affairs that he can stand for.

“So,” he says, when he’s finally coerced Tommy into going to the vending machines in the break room, “did you have a good night last night?”

“I’m getting Doritos,” Tommy says, feeding quarters into the machine, “do you want Doritos?”

“No.” Billy watches as the metal coil holding the chips in place seems to unfurl and let one bag go. “So...it wasn’t a good night, then?”

Tommy opens his chip bag about as forcefully as he can. “It was an alright night, Billy. No one got fucked and nothing remotely sexual happened, except at around three in the morning when he accidentally kneed me in the dick while getting up to take a piss. Happy?”

“No,” Billy says, again, trying not to smile.

Tommy throws a chip at him.

.

Saying, “I’m home,” when he gets back to Tommy’s place feels a little weird still, but he does it for the benefit of Pietro who’s usually, he’s found, caught up in his own little world in the kitchen or otherwise watching late night reruns of soap operas while getting drunk.

“Welcome back,” Pietro says, absently, from where he’s standing in front of the stove and measuring butter.

Normally Billy would push past him and let Tommy handle the situation, but since Tommy went to Teddy’s again (ostensibly to return his bike and get his own car, though Billy has to wonder), he decides that maybe it’s about time he actually has a decent conversation with his uncle.

That’s how he ends up rifling through cabinets and drawers in search of spices that he’s not even sure exist. He really doesn’t even know what Pietro is trying to make, though his best guess is Mexican rice. Worse than that he doesn’t know his way around a kitchen, much less someone else’s kitchen.

In the city it was always just him and Kate eating out—and he nearly bangs his head on an open cabinet drawer when he remembers he hasn’t called her in almost a month now.

“Did you find the cilantro?” Pietro asks, looking at him with vague worry. “I think it might be in the pantry by the stairs, actually.”

Billy smiles weakly, unsure of what to do. On one hand he’s been friends with Kate for years now, and since he’s known her it’s been rare for there to be a day where they don’t talk. On the other hand, Pietro was pretty much a father to him and he’s spent this past month actively avoiding him.

He finds the cilantro in the pantry, next to the bouillon cubes.

.

They eat in silence for the better part of twenty minutes, Billy sipping at his iced tea and Pietro staring at his plate considerably as he chews.

“It came out okay,” he says, finally, pushing the rice around with his fork. “Maybe more jalapenos next time. I barely notice them.”

“Yeah,” Billy agrees, and Pietro looks up at him sharply. Not angrily, but almost as if he’d forgotten Billy was there. “It is good though, just a little milder than what I’m used to, is all.”

Pietro nods, slowly, and then leans back in his chair, stretching his arms over his head and looking alarmingly like Tommy for a few scant seconds, not just in profile but in years. Then his eyes are downcast again and the wrinkles around his eyes become apparent and Billy offers to clear the table without hesitating.

He sits, curled up on the couch, reading a book he got years ago and never got around to starting, while Pietro flips through TV channels until he lands on something suitably melodramatic and becomes engrossed in it.

It’s quiet until the credits are rolling, at which point his uncle says, “I loved her very much, you know.”

Billy turns a page in his book and scans the words but doesn’t really comprehend them before answering, “I do. I know.”

“I wanted to have custody of you after what happened,” Pietro continues, still staring at the television. There’s a commercial for a local jewelry outlet droning in the background. “But they thought I had something to do with it, they didn’t even think I was fit to keep Tommy. Then by the time that court case was handled they’d already sent you to a foster home in the city, and my lawyer said trying to get you out of the system would be fighting an uphill battle. I wouldn’t have minded that, really, but it just wasn’t something I had the money to pursue.”

“I was with a few families before I was adopted,” Billy says, after a quiet moment. “I never had any serious problems. And the Kaplans, well, you talked to them a few times. I was lucky that they were the ones who adopted me in the end. I called them Mom and Dad and it didn’t feel that weird. They never replaced _my_ Mom, but they did a good job. They even helped pay for college.”

“I’m glad,” Pietro admits, eyes closed and a smile on his face. “I worried, often, about you. Tommy didn’t understand. _I_ didn’t understand. Your home was with us, but I know that everyone was just trying to do what was best for you.”

“I miss her,” Billy says, like it’s a confession, and maybe it is. “I remember everything about her, even some things I probably should forget, like how she would get so angry sometimes, and throw things.”

“She broke a dish set, once, that had been in the family for generations,” Pietro remarks, fondly. “She cut her hand on one of the pieces and had to get twelve stitches.”

Billy laughs at that, though what he really wants to do is cry. Twelve stitches, and he never even knew. All the stories she would have shared with him as he grew older, gone.

Pietro seems to be thinking something along the same lines based on the way he settles back into his recliner and dips his chin towards his chest.

They don’t talk much, after that.

.

( _Teddy_ )

“This is such bullshit,” Eli says as he sits down next to Teddy’s desk, mouth set in a deep frown. “We get a lead and they yank the whole thing away from us.”

“Says the guy who thought we shouldn’t be on the case to begin with,” Teddy reminds him, tapping his fingers on the wood of his desk and keeping his eyes on the report he’s supposed to be filling out. Standard breaking and entering, he feels like a robot putting the information in.

“Well, yeah, in the _beginning_.” Eli kicks forward at nothing in particular, crossing his arms across his chest. “But once we were officially assigned to the case we were officially signed to the fucking case, I don’t care what anyone says. If they had any doubts in the first place they could’ve given it to Rogers then, but oh no. Had to switch it up at the last minute, give it to Mr. All-American.” A pause. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Teddy shakes his head and wonders if he should offer to buy lunch today. “I like Steve, but—I know what you mean. It was our case and we’d finally gotten some info that might go somewhere.”

“Right? Look,” Eli leans forward, grabs the report out of Teddy’s hands and puts it to the side, “I really think that address might mean something. It was the only one in Cassie’s address book that didn’t have a name.”

“She seemed really organized, otherwise,” Teddy agrees with a sigh. “But, Eli—”

“I know.” Eli slumps in his seat, looking defeated in a way Teddy has never seen him look. “It's just—I knew her, Teddy. We were in AP Chem together in high school. She helped me organize my notes and figure out what was going to be on the test. She was crazy smart and meticulous when it came to that sort of stuff, if she changed a pattern there would have been a reason for it.”

Teddy grabs his report and looks at it for a few minutes in the low din of their open office before saying, “You wrote down the address, right?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m too used to fuckery to leave anything to chance.”

“Well, then, we might as well stop by, since we’re in the neighborhood.”

Eli’s smile is wide and bright and Teddy can’t help but return it.

.

Teddy’s just about to leave, he’s got his chair pushed in and he knows Eli’s out in the car with coffee which sounds like heaven, when Steve Rogers pops up out of nowhere.

Well, not exactly out of _nowhere_. The guy’s six feet, easy, and built like two linebackers, it’s pretty hard to miss him. But he still pops up, anyway, and Teddy isn’t expecting it at all.

“Christ, Steve,” he says, almost dropping all his paperwork. It’s a good thing he doesn’t go for clean-cut blondes, not usually (Tommy’s not really blonde, or clean-cut, for that matter), or else he’d probably find it impossible to have a normal conversation with his co-worker.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, going to pick up two of the stray papers that escaped Teddy’s grasp and handing them to him. If Teddy hadn’t seen him angry before he’d almost think his common courtesy didn’t have an off-switch. “I mean that about everything. I didn’t even want the case, you know.”

“Yeah,” Teddy takes the papers with a nod, “but you did.”

“Er.” Steve’s smile falls for a second before it returns, sheepishly. “Yeah, I did. It’s awful, but that just makes me want to solve it more. And I think we really can. We had a witness come forward.”

“What?” Teddy’s brows furrow, his lips purse. “Two weeks after the fact? Isn’t that a little suspicious?”

“Yeah, I know, that’s what I thought,” Steve admits, “but remember how the neighbor thought she saw someone parked out front the night before?”

“Mrs. Christiansen, yeah.” Teddy feels his stomach drop. “She’s always reporting stuff, I didn’t think it was worth looking into.”

“We decided to go talk to some of the other neighbors and one of them said they saw someone that morning,” Steve blurts out, like he can’t even contain himself. “My partner’s talking to him right now. I think this really might go somewhere, finally.”

“That’s great,” Teddy replies, blankly. “I’m glad.”

And he genuinely is. Steve gushes a bit more in that way of his, where he tends to get caught up in one single moment forever, before finally glancing at the clock and realizing he has a meeting to get to. He yells another apology to Teddy’s back as they part, and Teddy knows he means it, even if that doesn’t change anything.

By the time he’s made it out of the station and to the patrol car his coffee and his partner are both freezing.

“Stupid as hell,” Eli’s muttering as he turns the key in the ignition. “My grandma didn’t raise me to sit around in cars that aren’t moving with the heat on, wasting gas like that.”

“They have a suspect,” Teddy says, quietly, sipping at his coffee and grimacing because it just tastes bitter.

“What?” Eli looks at him, eyes wide. “Fuck. _How_?”

By the time Teddy’s explained the situation to him they’re cruising down Grand Blanc Ave and Eli’s stopped so he can get a new coffee.

“That seems,” Eli says, staring straight ahead, eyes narrowed, “I don’t know...off, I guess. Wrong.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

The address is 175 Pine Lake which is, by Teddy’s estimation, another fifteen minutes away.

“This could be a dead end,” Eli points out.

“Could be.”

“I’m still not feeling that witness situation back at the station.” Eli glances at him. “The guy waited this long to tell someone what he saw in a case this high profile?”

Teddy tries hard to keep his expression blank. “It could lead to something.”

“Yeah,” Eli laughs, bitterly. “It could lead to the wrong guy getting the blame placed on him. I’m sorry, but there’s just no goddamn way this is legit. My grandpa was on the force for twenty-five years and there’s no case that gets solved that way.”

“Eli, every case gets solved that way.”

“Not the good ones,” Eli corrects him. “Not the ones where it takes someone other than an old-fashioned hardass to figure out what’s going on.”

“Oh, and that’s you?” Teddy rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning.

“Of _course_ it’s me.”

“Then let’s go catch this son of a bitch.”

Eli whoops and speeds up—then quickly slows down, because they don’t have cause to be speeding, and they are police officers, after all.

.

( _Tommy_ )

He isn’t at home when it happens, so he just wakes up on Teddy’s couch at eleven to a slew of text messages and missed calls along with three frantic voice mails from Billy imploring him to call back.

He does so, scratching at his armpit and looking through the fridge for something edible.

He’s in the middle of biting into a hunk of what he thinks is cookie dough when Billy answers, like, “You need to come home _now_.”

“Why?” he asks, though it comes out more like a blob of a word, almost unintelligible behind the melt-away sweetness of the food in his mouth.

“Because they’re trying to arrest your dad,” Billy practically shrieks, his voice going all tinny through the speakers.

(And Tommy has a sudden flashback to middle school, to his father promising they’d be together again soon, to the way, even now, he doesn’t leave the house because God knows the things the neighbors say on days where the town is dry for new gossip.)

“I’m on my way,” he replies and he is.

.

It’s probably the worst thing, Tommy thinks, to hear and know the sound of your parent crying, but he knows it as soon as he opens the side door and pushed past several police officers into the kitchen.

“Dad?” he says, as soothingly as he can manage, though he knows he still sounds worried. “Dad, I’m here.”

His dad is sitting on the floor of the living room with some blonde haired blue eyed all-American prick standing above him like he owns the goddamn place, and Tommy ignores him completely, just falls to his knees next to his dad who’s shaking and whispering something that sounds like, “Not again.”

“Dad, it’s okay,” Tommy says, hand on shoulder and hoping to god he doesn’t get hit away. That used to happen a lot, and it hurt in more ways than one, but he understands the reaction now, just doesn’t want things to be to far broken again that it’s the only reaction that manifests.

“I didn’t do it, Tommy,” is the response he gets, and his dad’s voice sounds small and pathetic, but it’s not gone.

“I know.” Tommy shoots a quick glance around the room. He’s got blondie lording over him (although, honestly, the guy looks vaguely sympathetic) and he spots Billy in the kitchen talking quietly to the two other officers he can see. “Was there a reason you found it necessary to bring out the cavalry?”

Tall, blonde and, presumably, stupid, swallows hard before answering. “Based on the suspect’s past record—”

“He has a name,” Tommy interjects, glaring, hand tightening on his dad’s shoulder, “and he was absolved, something you’d know if you took a minute to do your research.”

“I know and I understand,” the cop continues, levelly, and he’s looking Tommy in the eye now. “But based on that and the nature of the crime he’s suspected of committing it was thought best to send in reinforcements. And, for the record, it wasn’t my idea, son.”

Loathe as he is to admit it Tommy’s pretty sure blondie is actually a nice guy who’s just doing his job. The nametag on his blue uniform top says ‘Rogers’ and he’s pretty sure he knows who he’s talking to and that Teddy has the utmost respect for the guy, which means Tommy ought to feel the same way.

“Just give us a minute, then, if you could?” Tommy asks, and he tries to keep his voice calm and level, which isn’t easy. “Teddy Altman, he’s my—well, we’re—”

“I know who you are,” Rogers says, softly, and Tommy’s pretty sure he means in terms of his relationship with Teddy and not as ‘that Maximoff boy’ which makes him feel like maybe he can trust this guy after all. The blonde glances around for a minute and then nods. “We’ll be outside, but we will be watching. When he’s ready to come out come and get me. Someone has to escort him out, I can’t bend on that.”

Tommy nods and Rogers leaves the room and it’s quiet for a minute before his dad tries to say something again, voice hoarse.

“Dad, don’t,” Tommy pleads, sitting next to him. He hates the way his dad collapses against his side like a child would. He used to be so different. “I don’t know what to do. Hell, they’re going to set the bail so high, I’m not going to be able to do _anything_.”

“I know.”

“I don’t think you’re lying, I’m sure you didn’t do it.” Tommy swallows. “But they want someone to blame so badly.”

“Like with Wanda,” his dad agrees.

“Y-Yeah. Um.” Tommy’s mind is racing for options and he knows Billy is standing awkwardly in the kitchen now, that the police aren’t going to give him all night. “I have a friend who works at the police station. I’ll talk to him. Maybe he can do something.”

He knows Teddy isn’t going to be able to do anything and he knows it’s going to be unfair to ask, but he doesn’t know what else to say.

“It’s okay,” his dad replies, and Tommy can’t even look at him, can only close his eyes tight. “If you can’t do anything, Tommy, it’s okay. Don’t look so upset. You’ll finally be able to go out to all the parties I never let you go to in high school.”

Tommy laughs because there’s nothing else he can do. “Might as well tell you now that I snuck out to, like, every single one of those parties.”

“I’m so proud.”

Tommy feels the tears coming but they still surprise him, and he’s wiping at his eyes with his sleeves as he says, “I’ll get you out of this. Somehow.”

His dad smiles and it’s the first time, in so long, that he’s really done that. Tommy wishes he’d cooked with him more or watched bad soap operas with him every night. He wishes he’d talked to him about mundane things and told him about important things, but—

“I’m not going away for life,” his dad assures him. “you aren’t getting that lucky.”

It’s another ten minutes before Tommy finally leaves the house to go get Rogers. By that point his eyes are dry.

.

( _Billy_ )

They eat frozen dinners, Tommy poking at his macaroni and cheese and Billy pushing around his chicken fried rice in silence.

Billy finds himself in the doorway of Tommy’s room, later, asking, “Shouldn’t you call Teddy?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy replies, voice muffled from where he’s laying in the dark. Billy moves to sit on the edge of his bed. “What am I gonna say? ‘Hey, since we fuck sometimes could you get my dad off the hook for some murder charges’? He can’t do that. How can I ask him to try and do that?”

“I could call Kate, maybe,” Billy says, absently. “Her dad’s rich and important.”

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy laughs, harshly. “That won’t make it look like he was guilty at all.”

“Shit, Tommy, I’m just trying to help.”

Tommy breathes out through his mouth and it almost sounds like a sob. “I’m sorry, I know. I just don’t know what I’m going to do. Barton will be totally within his rights to drop me from covering this story, and I don’t even want to cover it anyway. I think I’m going to ask to go on a leave. I can’t be around people right now. I’m a fucking mess.”

“No one will blame you,” Billy assures him. He still has the aftertaste of the chicken fried rice in his mouth. There was garlic and mushrooms in the fridge, he doesn’t know what Pietro was going to make but he’d even prefer one of his questionable recipes over this.

“Yeah because it must be a real shock to find out your dad’s a murderer,” Tommy spits, and it’s one of those things he’s going to regret saying later on but can’t help saying right now. “I hate this goddamn town. All anyone’s going to be saying is how it’s about time and they should’ve locked him up years ago.”

“No one would—”

“Everyone has been and they _will_ ,” Tommy hisses and it’s the first time he’s sounded bitter since Billy stood in the hallway in front of his office. “You weren’t here, Billy. You got to leave. I spent—it was...it was years of listening to people say things when they thought I wasn’t listening. Or even when they knew I was. Things about me, about my dad, about your mom.”

“Tommy,” it’s all Billy can think to say, and the only thing he can do is reach out and put his hand on his cousin’s shoulder.

“And I always thought, you know,” Tommy leans into the touch and breathes out harshly, “that everything would be so much easier if you were there. Because you’d understand.”

“I’m sorry,” Billy says, because he is and because he’s been meaning to say it for a long time now. He almost thinks to ask if he should go, but he remembers being little and how, when he was upset, Tommy would stay with him without asking.

So it’s almost too easy to lay down next to his cousin, to let Tommy tuck his head under his chin and fold in on himself, neither of them saying anything at all.

The house around them is quiet so Billy focuses on the sound of Tommy breathing and thinks that as long as he can hear that things will be okay.

.

Two things happen very quickly: Tommy puts in for a leave and gets it, and a media storm is unleashed.

Billy’s always had trouble watching high profile murder cases on television but now it’s almost impossible. Every news show is inundated with pictures of Pietro, even more than they show of Cassie and Jonas. Every channel has it’s own name for the case with anchors weighing in and viewers calling to tell their opinions, and Billy wants to watch so he knows what people are thinking.

But then they show a picture of Pietro with his mom, the two of them smiling on a boat that Billy recognizes to be his late grandfather’s and after that he stops watching.

Tommy doesn’t leave the house, not for a whole week. Billy doesn’t chastise him for it like he normally would because Tommy isn’t watching television or making pointless long distance phone calls, he’s just laying on his bed and doing god knows what. Sleeping, mostly.

Billy gets up in the morning and showers and goes to work. He draws cartoons about the recent energy crisis and the upcoming election and ignores the stares of the people around him. He doesn’t eat lunch and picks up fast food on the way home from work. Everything times two, even though he knows Tommy won’t eat a full meal. He lays in bed at night and doesn’t sleep until he finally just starts sleeping in the same bed with Tommy, the two of them clinging to each other like there’s nothing else left.

(And what’s left, really?)

.

There’s knocking at the side door on a Sunday afternoon that Billy is spending playing card games against himself. He almost doesn’t even get up to answer it but it goes on for five minutes and gets more insistent as time goes on and Tommy is sleeping.

He flings open the door, ready to kick someone’s ass and finds himself staring at Teddy Altman who looks equal parts nervous and authoritative, like he’s going to give Billy an order and then ask if that’s okay.

“Oh,” Billy says, his brain working too slowly to form a complete sentence.

“Can I come in?” Teddy asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Yeah, I—yeah.” Billy opens the door wider and lets the blonde in, closing the door behind him. “Sorry the place is kind of a mess. I’ve been busy with work and Tommy’s been pretty out of it.”

Teddy shakes his head where he’s taking off his shoes because he’s, Billy supposes, one of those people who does that. “It’s okay, I understand. I mean, no, I don’t. How could I? But I understand the situation as much as I can. Cleaning wouldn’t be the first thing on my mind, either.”

“Well, thanks,” Billy shrugs, “I guess.” He pushes past Teddy, going to clear off a chair in the kitchen so there’s somewhere for the both of them to sit that feels more neutral than the couch in the living room. “Just don’t talk too loud. He’s asleep.”

Teddy sends a worried glance towards Tommy’s bedroom door and nods. “Okay.”

Billy sits in front of his game of Solitaire and motions for Teddy to sit across from him.

“I’ve done everything I can,” Teddy tells him after watching him flip cards over for a few minutes. “There’s just nothing I can do. I’m not on the case anymore, as I’m sure you know. Most of the guys I work with still call me a rookie. Really, the only reason I got assigned to it was because I was the first one on the scene and I fought to be on the case.”

“It’s okay,” Billy says, not glancing up. “I understand.”

Teddy winces. “Look, I really am sorry. I don’t know you well, but I know Tommy. I know Pietro. I want to help.”

“You already said you can’t help, so I’m not sure how you’re going to do that.” Billy puts a five of diamonds on a six and feels like he’s going to throw up.

“God, you’re difficult.” The blonde laughs though there’s no humor in it. “No, there’s nothing I can do when it comes to Pietro’s situation beyond testifying for him, which I’m fully prepared to do. It doesn’t look like he has an airtight alibi, but I’ll be a character witness if I have to be.”

“Are we your charity case?” Billy asks bluntly, finally looking up from the cards. “I’m just wondering, because you seem to think we need your help, like we won’t make it through this without you, or something.”

“What?” Teddy’s eyes widen and he looks more hurt than surprised at the accusation. “No, _no_. I know you don’t know me, but hasn’t Tommy told you—”

“That you’re fucking?” Billy blinks and Teddy blanches. “Yeah, I know about that. I mean, it’s pretty obvious Tommy’s in love with you and that you don’t really don’t think much of him, anyway.”

“In lo—he’s not—”

“Yeah,” Billy turns another card over, “he is.”

Teddy doesn’t say anything for a long moment during which the only sound is cards being flipped and the hum of the heater turning on.

“Did he say that?” he asks, finally.

“No, but I can tell,” Billy sighs and leans back in his chair. “I don’t blame him. Honestly, you seem nice. Tommy pretends he doesn’t like nice, but it’s what he wants. It’s probably what he needs. If you want to help him then you have to feel the same way. Otherwise it’s going to be one of those things where you’re just building up his hopes and he’s not going to survive the fall when you finally tell him you don’t love him.”

Teddy looks like he’s at a loss. “I came over to ask if I could help buy groceries or something.”

“So that’s a no then.” Billy levels the blonde with a glance.

“I-I don’t know.” Teddy runs a hand through his hair. “I can’t just say I do or I don’t.”

“Then why are you here?” Billy asks, and he knows it’s harsh, but he can barely stomach this guy, can’t handle the fact that he let him into the house.

“I’m just gonna go,” Teddy says, standing up, chair scraping against the linoleum floor. “If you could tell Tommy I came by I’d appreciate it, but I guess I can’t force you to do that.”

Billy makes a noncommittal noise and pointedly doesn’t watch as Teddy walks through the kitchen and towards the side door.

With the door halfway open and half his body outside Teddy turns back and says, “I came here to tell you guys that I’m still working on this, you know. My partner and I are following a lead and we’re doing it off-duty. I don’t know if—I don’t know if I feel that way about him, but I do know I care.”

The door swings shut behind him and Billy feels like he’s in high school again as he wishes, fervently, that he could disappear even though there was no one around to see his mistakes.

.

Tommy ventures out of his room sometime in the evening, the sky out the front window pitch black and some late night talk show on the television.

He slumps against Billy, boneless, where he’s sitting on the couch. They watch the show in silence, neither of them laughing with the studio audience or getting up when the picture starts to get a little fuzzy.

It takes fifteen minutes for Billy to say, “Teddy came over.”

Tommy doesn’t respond.

And outside their window the world bursts into flames.

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I was going to put the whole thing up as just one massive oneshot (which is a thing I’ve been known to do) because I have a nasty habit of not finishing things that are chaptered, hence why this is my only chaptered fic to be posted on AO3 so far. But in the end I decided that a breather was probably necessary because good lord everyone in this fic is miserable. You’re probably miserable. Not as miserable as Pietro, but pretty close I’d imagine.
> 
> Anyway, part two should be up somewhat soon! I hope you enjoyed the first part, and if you did consider leaving a comment, because feedback is always appreciated!


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